


Exes and Ohs

by hobbitsdoitbetter



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BAMF Molly Hooper, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexual Sherlock Holmes, Boys Kissing, Caretaking, Consensual Infidelity, Consensual Kink, Dom!Molly, Dom/sub Play, Dorks in Love, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, Married Couple, Molly Hooper Appreciation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, POV Sherlock Holmes, Praise Kink, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rough Sex, Sexual Experimentation, Sexual Fantasy, Shameless Smut, Sherlock in Love, Sub!Tom, Subspace, Switch Sherlock, Switching, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-23 17:03:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13792182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitsdoitbetter/pseuds/hobbitsdoitbetter
Summary: Friday night in Merricat's Dungeon and Sherlock and Molly are looking for a third to play with.When Molly spies her ex Tom amongst the heaving masses, what else are she and Sherlock to do but have themselves some dirty fun?Sherlock. Tom. Molly. Things are about to get interesting...





	1. Exes and Ohs

Dsclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit, and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta read so all mistakes are mine.  inspired by darnedchild's   _[My Pretty Boys](http://archiveofourown.org/series/941511)_  trilogy. Part two is almost done. Read the tags- This is not for the faint-hearted. But for those of us with an open, dirty mind... Welcome!

* * *

**\- EXES AND OHS -**

* * *

It’s Merricat’s in Soho, and it’s Friday night in sea of heaving bodies, when Sherlock spots him.

In his skinny jeans and hipster tee, Tom looks like a lamb set adrift in a sea of wolves.

With a smirk he pulls Molly towards him, nods in the  poor dear’s direction. Murmurs that he might just be what they’ve been looking for tonight, something Molly agrees to with a red-cheeked smile.  

Her eyes sparkle with enthusiasm and Sherlock feels his cock twitch. Harden.

 _This,_ he knows,  _is going to be good._

So he starts making his way across the sea oh heaving dancers towards his target, the man he’s just spotted. The fact is, Tom is the perfect choice for he and Molly’s play tonight- Sherlock entertains not a jot of doubt about that. 

After all, it was Tom who first mentioned the idea of watching Molly with another man to his then fiancee, now Sherlock’s wife. Tom who had initially wanted to share her, to bring another into their bed. He had... the word she used to Sherlock was, “pestered,” her about it. Had implied that her lack of enthusiasm meant that she was prudish and unadventurous, never mind that she hadn’t refused, had merely asked him to consider indulging one of her kinks in return. 

Sherlock smiles darkly at the thought: Considering what he now knows about her sexual tastes-  and where they are tonight- this charge seems especially amusing.

_There are a lot of things one can say about Molly Hooper, Sherlock knows, but “prudish,” and “unadventurous,” are not on the list._

As he thinks this, Sherlock comes abreast of Tom, taps him on the shoulder.

The other man starts, not recognising him for a moment, and then his face closes.

“So you remember me,” Sherlock mouths, smirking. “Hello, Meat Dagger.”

And he gives him his most flirtatious grin.

Tom shoots him what he obviously believes is a scowl. (Sherlock has seen kittens do better). Opens his mouth- probably to tell him to fuck off- but before he can Sherlock points over to the edge of the dance-floor, where Molly has found them a private booth.

Tom follows his line of sight and his eyes widen as he takes in his ex, sitting to the side in a skintight white and pink corset dress, a white half-mask on her face. She’s wearing opera gloves, a small white leather riding in her hand. Sherlock knows she looks... Well, the technical term is “absolutely fucking gorgeous.” If there was any doubts of that, the looks the other club regulars are shooting her would put pay to them.

_She stands out in the black-and-red-clad room like the moon against a cloudy sky._

“She sent me over,” he tells Tom, leaning over to speak the words in his ear.

He is gratified to see the young man give a surreptitious shiver at hs nearness. Good.

_So Molly hadn’t been wrong in her suspicions about her ex._

“She mentioned you might be what she’s looking for tonight,” he adds. Tom turns sharply to him at that, his expression almost comically outraged.

Sherlock shrugs.

“You’re in a sex club,” he points out. “A sexual deity propositioning you is sort of the point, Meat Dagger. Try not to look so shocked.”

Tom snorts. “And this deity is you, is it?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes heavenward:  _Whatever was Molly thinking when she took up with this dolt?_

“ _She’s_  the goddess in question,” he says, chucking his chin in Molly’s direction. “If you can’t see that then I don’t know what to do with you.” Another smirk. “But then again, I don’t need to- I have Molly for that.”  

And before Tom can open his mouth and further illustrate why he’s single, Sherlock slides his arm around his shoulder, one hand coming to rest upon his arse. Begins tugging him towards the booth with another flirtatious grin.

For a split second Tom hesitates and then he steels his spine. Starts marching towards Molly. Sherlock grins, amused. “Aren’t you adorable?” he mutters under his breath.

Tom doesn’t hear him- But then Tom wasn’t meant to.

Rather Molly gets to her feet when they reach her. Kisses Sherlock, long and slow and sweet, as he slides into the booth next to her. “Good boy,” she coos, “getting your Mistress just what she wanted.”

Tom’s cheek go red, eyes widening in surprise at the words, and if Sherlock’s not very much mistaken, his is no longer the only erection at their table.

He feels a smug wash of satisfaction as he looks at the younger man.

“Hello, Tom,” Molly says, holding up a champagne bottle. She rakes her eyes over him, making sure to look pointedly at his hardening cock. Her expression might best be described as wicked and oh but Sherlock likes that. 

“Fancy a glass, do you?” Another grin. “After all, you got so dressed up and pretty for me.”

The other man stammers out a yes and Sherlock slides closer to his pathologist, delighted at the prospect of getting to watch her work.

 

* * *

 

 

 One glass of champagne turns into two, then three.  

The alcohol buzzes pleasurably through Sherlock and Tom and Molly, taking the edge off whilst somehow building it too.

 _It feels divine._   

All the time Molly leans into Sherlock, kissing and nuzzling him. Touching him in the sorts of wildly inappropriate ways that would normally get them thrown out of a bar. (Good job then that they’re in Merricat’s, the only D/s club that Molly’s ever taken to, and the only one still operating where the owners owe Sherlock a debt.)

Tom watches the scene with wide eyes and slightly reddened cheeks, his breathing shallow. His lip bitten. His arousal is obvious: Underneath the table, he’s getting harder and harder, Sherlock can see it. his erection is tenting the front of his jeans, pulse beating hard at his throat.

_It makes him look rather, well, delicious._

His arousal seems to be rubbing off on Molly too, making her more extravagant than usual, more confident. Normally she prefers to watch, rather than to perform, but not tonight, apparently. Sherlock is happy to  bask in the results however: She’s utterly gorgeous when she’s like this. When she’s wanton and playful and confident.  

_He smiles, knowing himself to be a lucky man, because of all the people this goddess could have chosen, she opted for **him.**_

Their teasing kisses can’t last forever though. Eventually, she decides to take matters into her own hands and moves to straddle him. Kiss him. Her heat presses down into his lap as she licks and bites and nibbles at his lips, as she kneads his erection through his trousers. 

She runs her teeth along his carotid artery, one hand twisting sharply at his nipple as she does so, and to his side he hears Tom give a small strangled moan-  _Sherlock doesn’t bloody blame him-_

“Christ, Mols,” he murmurs breathlessly. “Christ, that’s- You’re- Fuck.”

He moves over to kiss her and she pulls back, the riding crop pressed smartly against his chest.  

He grits his teeth in annoyance and she smiles sweetly.

“Oh no, sweetheart,” she tells him. “That’s not how this works. _I_  decide what happens, and nobody else” She grins at Sherlock, kisses him again before pulling back. Taking his hand in hers and pressing it to Tom’s erection.

She licks her lips as she does it.

With a devilish grin, Sherlock strokes him, taking this hardness in his hands and moving just  _so_. Making him stutter and swear, his eyelids fluttering shut for a moment before he opens them again. Looks at Sherlock sharply.

_Obviously, a Tom-shaped Rubicon has been reached._

The moment sparks and fizzles, electric with potential. This is the moment of truth: For all Molly’s suspicions, this will be the first time he as proof that Tom is as interested in him as he suspects. Holding his gaze, Sherlock reaches over. Closes the distance between them and kisses him, his hand still kneading him rhythmically through his jeans, his other hand tangling in his hair. Tugging it sharply, nails scraping his scalp.

It makes Tom moan and whine some more, and oh but that is a pretty sound, Sherlock can’t help thinking...

“We’ve a private suite upstairs,” Molly says when they pull apart. (Sherlock is rather pleased to note how ruffled and heavy Tom’s breathing is.) “Why don’t you come up and see what happens, hmm?” 

She strokes the crop across Sherlock’s chest and he shivers, dropping his head back and looking at her through heavy-lidded eyes. An expert flick of it against his crotch and he moans. Bucks his hips.

He’s rewarded by a filthy, delicious, open-mouthed kiss.

“Fuck, honeybee,” he says, “you’ll be the death of me-”

She smiles. “You should have put that in the marriage vows, darling.”

Sherlock laughs helplessly-”You’re right,”- and turns his smile on Tom. “Fancy helping her shuffle me off the old mortal coil, hmm?” Again he grins, doing his best to look every bit as appealing as he knows Tom finds him. “I can tell our Molly’s got something up her sleeve, no mistake-” he leans in confidingly- “and I promise it wlll be fun.”

The young man purses his lips; he looks torn. Really torn.

“And what happens if I go upstairs?” he asks quietly and instantly Molly’s eyes gentle. 

“Nothing you don’t agree to.” She gives his knee a small squeeze. “That’s not how Sherlock and I play, is it, darling?”  

Holmes shakes his head in agreement. Brings her wrist to his lips to kiss it.  “No, it’s not,” he says softly. “No, that’s not us.”

And again he kisses his wife, his Mistress. The woman he’s pledged his life to. 

_There’s nothing he likes better, after all, than having her take her fill of him._

For a moment longer Tom seems torn. Staring at Molly. Staring at Sherlock. For the first time in their acquaintance, the detective feels a sliver of empathy with him: playing like this can be emotionally difficult, he knows. And while Molly had always suspected Tom liked men as well as women, every time she brought it up he cut her down: Such discomfort with his own desires may be with Tom still, which will make him reluctant.

_And yet-_

“Take me upstairs,” he says. His cheeks redden, his voice isn’t even, but he sounds resolved. 

He licks his lips as he looks at Molly and Sherlock. His breathing’s still shallow, cock still hard. “You only live once, eh?  What happens, happens.”  

And with Molly’s hand at his wrist and Sherlock’s around his waist, he lets them lead him to their suite.

“We’re going to take such good care of you,” Molly tells him, and Sherlock grins because he knows it’s true.

* * *

 

To be continued... 

 


	2. What The Lady Wants, The Lady Gets...

_ Disclaimer: _ This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta read, so all mistakes are mine. Special thanks go to MizJoely, Westwinder, Raelynn and our sponsor, Cumbercougers- I hope you enjoy! Very NSFW and even smuttier than the first part, read the tags and then enjoy… 

* * *

**\- WHAT THE LADY WANTS, THE LADY GETS -**

* * *

 

They’re barely inside the door of the suite before Sherlock kicks off. 

After all, he and Molly have already discussed what they want from this night, so there’s no need for them to slow down now- 

_ Not when he’s been told in such gorgeously explicit terms what his Mistress wants from him.  _

So, as Molly slips inside the room he turns, pins himself up against Tom and kisses him roughly. Presses his whole body against him, his hands gripping his wrists and pinning them to his sides against the door. The other man’s body is hot, hard. His legs messily scrabble with Sherlock’s, one knee coming to rest against his cock as Sherlock’s tongue slides hungrily against his lips, demanding entrance. Demanding satisfaction. Tom looks at him with narrowed, lust-clouded eyes, his breath coming hard and fast as his head drops back in submission.

Instinctively, it seems, he bares his throat.  

This is the moment of truth, Sherlock knows: Despite his words downstairs, this might be too much for Tom- He’s pleasantly surprised though.  _ Very  _ pleasantly surprised. 

“Colour?” he barks, hoping the other man knows what that means. 

He does, apparently, because he stammers out, “green, green, completely fucking green…”

“That’s what  hoped you’d say,” Sherlock growls. 

He kisses him and again and Tom turns to butter against him. He moans into their kisses; In instinct, the hardness of his cock meeting Sherlock’s own. The hands Sherlock moves from his wrists to dig into his arse-cheeks making his hips buck and shudder; Unable to help himself, Tom bites sharply against his shoulder; Sherlock feels it even through his jacket and shirt through his shirt-

“Fuck,” Tom keeps murmuring. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His eyes gaze up at Sherlock’s. “That feels so fucking  good...”

Sherlock and Molly share a smile. “Of course it feels good,” she says. “I’ve made sure he’s really bloody good at it.”  

And Sherlock grins. Licks his lips. He tugs Tom’s tee roughly off then starts to work hm harder. His arse. The pointed, hard nubs of his nipple. He kneads and bites and sucks and strokes until he’s made the younger man into a babbling mess.  _ It feels fucking divine. _ Sherlock doesn’t let up though, doesn’t slow down: It’s a gorgeous thing to witness, that first step towards submission, that first step towards pleasure- Sherlock’s rarely seen it from this side, but he knows it well enough through his games with his Molly to be pleased for the other man. 

And since he _ is _ pleased, and since he  _ is _ hard as hell, he wastes on time in jerking open Tom’s jeans. Sliding them roughly down his hips and over his arse- he takes his underwear too- while his other hand presses inside to squeeze his cock. To palm it. 

The action makes him moan some more. 

The younger man gasps and bucks roughly, his head again dipping back against the door as he gives himself over Sherlock. As he loses himself to the sensation of being worked. The sensation of being fucked.  

“That’s it,” Sherlock mutters. “That’s it- You take what I give you, there’s a good boy-”

“I want-” Tom babbles, “I can’t-”

“Yes you can- Can’t he Molly?” 

“Oh definitely,” she practically purrs. “He’s doing beautifully so far.”

And Sherlock grins, eyes going to her- she’s splayed across the suite’s bed, watching them, her dress hiked up to her hips and her sweet little hand teasing and caressing her mound. One hand squeezing her breast, there where it’s hanging loose from her bodice. 

_ Her cheeks are pink, her eyes dancing, and Christ but she looks tempting as sin.  _

“Look at her,” he murmurs to Tom, “Look at what we’re doing to her...” He kisses the younger man sharply, hungrily, before pulling away. Turning his attention momentarily to his wife. “Is this what you wanted, tonight, darling?” he asks her and in answer she lets out a low, throaty moan. Nods to him. 

The look in her eyes is filthy. 

“Oh Christ, yes.” She slides her fingers deeper and deeper inside herself. Works herself into a frenzy. “Fuck him, love,” she says, “oh please, I want to watch you fuck him…I want that so badly… ”

Sherlock’s smile is vulpine. “What she lady wants, the lady gets,” he says. 

And he turns his attention back to Tom. Shifts so that Molly can see what he’s doing more clearly. Dazed, aroused, Tom’s eyes find Molly’s. They widen at the sight of her pleasuring herself and Sherlock wonders wryly if he still thinks she’s a priggish little prude?

_ He somehow doubts it. _

With a dark chuckle, he starts working the younger man again though, muttering in his ear to watch her while he’s being fucked. Muttering in his ear to watch the reason he’s been given such pleasure. 

“Do you want more?” he growls in his ear. “Do you?”

Tom nods helplessly, allowing it, his hips jerking in time with Sherlock’s hand, his mouth hanging open and breath coming like a locomotive. 

When Sherlock manhandles him into the room, he doesn’t resist. 

When Sherlock presses him over until he’s bent over the arm of the sofa, he doesn’t resist either. 

Trousers down, arse bare, lube-covered fingers working him open, he doesn’t resist any of of. In fact, he moves against Sherlock’s fingers, begging him, pleading with him-  _ He really is the most whorish little thing _ , Sherlock can’t help thinking… 

“I want it,” he mutters, “Oh God, please, I want it…”

“Then you’ll have it.” And with practiced ease, Sherlock takes himself in hand. Bites open the condom packet he keeps in his jacket pocket and rolls the rubber on. 

The familiar trace of latex and lube on the air make him grin. 

He brings his cock to the beautiful, tight ring of Tom’s arsehole, pulls out his fingers, replacing them with the tip of his cock, and slowly, slowly he begins working his way in. Filling the younger man up while he whines and moans and jerks for him. 

_ It feels so fucking tight and so fucking good, he never wants it to stop. _

Tom mewls and grunts. Writhes and curses and pleads with him. He licks a palm; His hands, now free, move down to his cock and he starts tugging himself roughly. Sharply. Desperately. 

_ Anything to let himself finally, finally, come,  _ Sherlock thinks,  _ and oh, he knows how that feels.  _

But it’s a long way off, for him, at least. _ Sherlock will see to that. _ At the thought he grunts, finally, pushing himself all the way inside the other man with a hiss of pleasure before pulling himself almost out and pushing in again, and again. And again and again and again. His eyes meet Molly’s, their gazes locking. Holding. She works herself into a frenzy as he works Tom into one and he knows it’s ridiculous, but he feels as if they’re working in tandem. Working together. They’re matching each other’s rhythm, making each other’s joy. As if it’s one heart beating between them, and not two- Or three- 

“Oh Christ, oh Christ,” Tom keeps mumbling. 

“Oh Christ, I love you,” Molly keeps saying. 

The pleasure and the heat build and build. The grunts and moans and sighs in the room reach an ever greater high. Hand at Tom’s thigh, Sherlock sets a merciless pace, hips pistoning, moving so sharply that the chair over which he’s bent starts to shake. It skitters light across the floor and still he doesn’t stop. Tom hisses and twitches, dropping his head, his cock spurting white as he comes, but that doesn’t stop Sherlock at all. No, he keeps going, still working himself in, almost lost to his own pleasure until he hears his Molly’s voice calling to him- 

“Sherlock,” she gasps, and his head snaps up, eyes going to meet hers. 

_ She’s trained him well. _

Her face is flushed and gorgeous, fingers still inside herself, and it is utterly obvious that she’s just come. 

“Sherlock,” she tells him. “Darling, remember what I said I wanted?”

“Wh-what?” He racks his head, for a moment too drunk on the pleasure of fucking Tom to recall it. In fairness, despite his own orgams, Tom seems happy with that too. But then-

“Not inside anyone else but you,” he says, relieved to have remembered, and at the words he slows. Tries to focus. Draws together every ounce of personal obstinacy and determination he possesses to stop working himself inside Tom. He pulls out, his cock now so hard it actually hurts…  _ Fuck, fuck, fuck,  _ that’s all his brain can chant, _ fuck but I want to come…  _

On still-wobbly legs, Molly rises. Comes over to him. 

She presses an open-mouthed kiss to his lips, her hand coming down to tenderly stroke his cock. 

With a look of permission to Tom she nods and the other man reaches up, kissing Sherlock too. Adding his hand to Molly’s too.

“Come over here,” Molly coos. “Come over here and let me take care of you…Let  _ us  _ take care of you... ” 

And with infinite gentleness and care she pulls him down to the couch where she had sprawled. Picks open his shirt, his trousers with delicate hands. 

Still kissing him, still cooing, she and Tom strip him, the younger man’s mouth working his nipples, the length of his throat, Molly’s sweet, clever tongue licking inside his mouth to tease his own… 

“Come on, my darling,” she keeps whispering, “give yourself over to Miss Molly…”

Sherlock sighs, his gaze going hazy…  _ He can feel himself slipping into subspace…  _

The tables turn quickly; within moments  _ he’s _ the one being manoeuvred, he’s the one being acted on. Mouths and hands are everywhere, the warmth of breath against his newly-bared skin making him shiver. The feel of Molly and Tom kissing him making his breath catch. 

“Oh, my sweet darling,” Molly is whispering. “I am going to take such good care of you…”

She peels the condom off him before motioning with her head to Tom. The younger man’s eyes go wide and his cheek redden, but he still lowers his head and wraps his lips around Sherlock’s prick. 

He still starts, very gently, to suck, and it feels heavenly.  

Sherlock gasps, jerks, the pleasure of it making his pulse pound and his blood fizz. He watches Tom taking him in, taking him almost to the root, the younger man’s hands coming up to fondle and tease his balls. His sac.  _ His gaze is scorching where it meets Sherlock’s own.  _ Molly’s kissing his face, his throat, his nipples. Her fingers are slipping and sliding, teasing open the puckered ring of his arse as Tom sucks him dry and he finds that all he can do is moan- _ He feels like he’s floating, free-falling, adrift in a world of pleasure-  _

Orgasm is looming, he can feel it deep within him. 

He gazes up at Molly, his eyes open and adoring and ever so slightly flummoxed, and to his immense delight she understands. Nods. 

_ But then, his Mistress always understands him.  _

“That’s enough, Tom,” she tells the other man. “I can take it from here.” A tender smile. “I will take it from here, won’t I darling?”

And she brushes the hair from his forehead. Kisses the frown lines between his eyebrows. Sherlock nods. Moans,  _ He wants so badly for her to give him what he needs, he wants so badly for her to give him what they’d discussed tonight.. _

She picks up the riding crop, flicks it warningly against Tom when he doesn’t immediately stop and though he looks less than pleased he still moves away, coming to a bumpy rest on the carpet in front of the couch. Staring up at them. 

Sherlock can’t help but note that he’s already half hard again. 

“You used to say you wanted to watch me with someone else, didn't you?” Molly tells him.

The younger man nods mutely. 

“You wanted me to take someone else into my bed and watch what I’d do to them, hmm?”

Again, he nods, though this time his eyes are wide. 

“Well, if this was the man I’d been with,” Molly says, gesturing to Sherlock, “then this is the way I would have loved him...” 

And turning away from Tom, she focuses her attention back on her husband. Smiles as she brings her forehead down to press to his, her hands tangling in his hair. They kiss, and it’s sweet and wet and hot and breath-stealing, just as Sherlock knows it should be. 

And then, when he’s thoroughly gone, when he’s utterly in her power, she swings her legs over his hips to straddle him and take him inside her heat. 

Sherlock feels his cock slide against her belly; with a firm grasp she takes it and presses it into her. They both sigh in unison at the sensation, both look at each other in heavy-lidded pleasure. There’s love and lust and trust in their eyes and it warms Sherlock’s heart. And then, as if there was nobody else there watching them, as if it were simply another normal, wonderful night together in Baker Street, then his Molly starts riding him. Fucking him, Taking him. 

Slowly and carefully, she lowers herself onto his cock. 

Slowly and carefully, she pulls herself back off him only to lower herself onto his cock again. 

Hands filled with her sweet little tits, eyes locked on his, she moves faster. And faster. And then faster and faster. Though Sherlock thought he was close earlier, he finds himself trying valiantly to last. Finds himself hoping against hope that he won’t come. 

Because she’s gorgeous like this, wild and wanton and utterly,  beautifully masterful. 

She makes his breath holler and his body sing, makes his heart feel as open as a window on the first day of spring. All the time she’s riding him she says his name, tells him how she loves him, tells him how beautifully whorish and wanton he’s being for her- 

And then there’s a gasp, a hiss. A rake of her nails against his belly. 

Sherlock lets out a hoarse cry, his hips bucking, and then suddenly he’s spilling himself inside his Mistress and he never wants it to end. 

Molly gasps and moans, growls that she loves him and then she, too, is tipping her way into orgasm- Falling headlong into it- 

When he comes back to himself, Sherlock finds her curled up on his chest. Eyes closed and breathing softly. His cock, though soft, is still insider her, and she’s tucked herself under his chin, her arms wrapped around his neck. To there right Tom is lying, spread-eagled, his cocks still in his hand and what appears to Sherlock to be the remains of another climax coating his belly- 

“Told you it’s be fun,” Sherlock mumbles to him, and then he’s swept off into the arms of sleep. 

He doesn’t feel Molly smile at his words, but of course she does. 

* * *

When they’ve slept a bit and eaten a bit, they all put their clothes back on. 

Sherlock calls a cab and then helps Molly into her street clothes before carefully wrapping her corset and toys away. 

All the time Tom watches them in what he clearly imagines is a surreptitious manner, his cheeks slightly red and his gaze fastened on Molly. 

_ It’s really rather obvious.  _

Eventually though, it’s time to go; not even Merricats would allow them to take the suite all night on a Friday, Sherlock Holmes or no. Besides, he and Molly have babysitting duties with the youngest Watson tomorrow, and experience tells Sherlock that they’d best be well rested for that. 

So he opens the door, gestures for everyone to leave.

As she crosses over the threshold however,, Tom catches Molly’s wrist. Stops her. 

When he looks at her his eyes are burning and Sherlock has to tamp down the urge to tell him to fuck off. 

“If I’d known that was what you wanted,” he tells her, “I would have been happy to put up with it, Mols.”

Molly meets his eyes without hesitation, or shame. 

“Do you know why I dumped you Tom?” she asks quietly. A small smile. “I mean, aside from the fact that I already knew I was still in love with that man there?” She gestures to Sherlock and Tom shakes his head. Grimaces in a way which-  _ mind-alteringly good sex or not- _ is designed to make him glare. 

“I dumped you because I knew you’d put up with it; I just didn’t want to marry someone who’d put up with it- Or put up with me.” She shoots a blazingly bright smile at Sherlock. 

“And believe me, I didn’t.”

And with that she walks around him, her arm in her husband’s. She kisses him sweetly, whispers that she loves him as she helps him into his coat. 

“Goodbye, Tom,” she calls over her shoulder, and with that, she leads Sherlock away. 

Sherlock rather suspects that Tom knows there will be no repeat performances of this evening. 

When he tells her as much she nods and curls against him in the cab. 

“There are far more fun people out there,” she tells him, “people who deserve you.” And despite himself and how foolish he knows it is, Sherlock beams. 

 


End file.
